


[uwu-emoji-but-with-ass.png]

by glitchesaintshit



Series: dank polycule shit [4]
Category: Slipknot (Band)
Genre: Couch Cuddles, Fluff, Multi, Polyamory, just guys being dudes chilling in the haunted mansion, soft as hell, we all need some fluff right now, y'know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-05 03:16:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21206501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitchesaintshit/pseuds/glitchesaintshit
Summary: it's soft-ass polycule cuddle pile dudes what more do you want from me





	[uwu-emoji-but-with-ass.png]

**Author's Note:**

> BACK AT IT AGAIN AT KRISPY KREME [BACK HANDSPRINGS INTO DUMPSTER]
> 
> has anybody else noticed how much these morons love each other?? just me??? is that why there's only two other works in this tag???? y'all are killing me here
> 
> anyway i feel like we're all going through it & needed some fluff  
i know I'M going thru it and all i want to WRITE is fluff, so.  
i regret nothing & cannot be stopped so sorry in advance
> 
> set around feistycadavers's ["four idiots one bed"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20839382) aka during vol3 recording because i said so

The house is haunted and they’ve just accepted it, resorted to sticking together and trying to be kind to each other because, y’know. Ghosts cause all sorts of weird emotional disturbances and shit, y’know. (Much like producers that only show up once a week and spend the entire time they’re there smoking cigarettes and not offering any actual good input, but then again. If the producer only shows up once a week, isn’t he a ghost too? Sid thinks so.) 

Or, y’know, at least _Sid’s_ trying to be kind. Shawn and Corey are being crabby about the fuckin’ producer again--he showed up that morning for like, an hour, to do nothing again and they’ve been bitching around ever since--and Joey’s being distant and he hasn’t seen much of Paul and Jim and Chris all day, they’re probably having some sort of mind melt weird tantric yoga thing or playing Playstation, but either way Sid wasn’t invited. Which is fine. There’s TV and weed and a fully stocked fridge and he played fetch with Fred all morning (a loose concept which really means _the hours immediately after waking up_ no matter where those hours are on the clock) until they got worn out and passed out on the big couch watching Dr. Phil and when he drifts back awake Corey’s piled on Shawn who’s piled on him and The Simpsons is on and so is one of the lamps in the corner that only works sometimes even when the light bulbs are fresh, which is just further evidence of this fuckin’ place being haunted. Y’know. 

It’s warm and comforting and feels soft & fuzzy like he’s looking at the world through truck stop sunglasses, so Sid doesn’t mind being the bottom of a cuddle pile he didn’t start. He could probably pass back out, but y’know. The _Simpsons_. 

He jiggles the pile with his leg and mumbles something like “_don’t let me pass back out_”, mouth all sleep-sticky and dry and Corey just reaches back and hands him a cup from the floor, pats his foot where he’s trapping it with his butt. 

“Sure thing, princess.”

Shawn just grunts and pulls Corey closer to him with the arm draped over his chest and huffs a noise that sounds like storm clouds into the side of his neck; settling back into crushing Sid into the couch like he’s paid to do it. Which is fine. He’s got the last ten sips of Corey’s juice and TV and weed and a fully stocked fridge, and Fred’s snoring on the other couch and he’s got two of his favorite people trying to cut off the circulation to his legs forever, so y’know. He’s happy.

Shawn’s hair’s getting real long, but y’know. So’s all of them’s. It’s good to play with, if Shawn lets him. Soft. Y’know. Even with all the drama earlier today’s a good day, cuz when Sid pulls Shawn’s sloppy bun out so he can scratch into his scalp real good and comb through his hair with his fingers and see how far out he can drag it Shawn doesn’t bitch, just sits still. Hums a little, even. Maybe it’s something like happiness. _Sid’s_ happy, at least. Haunted fuckin’ house ain’t gonna get him down. 

It’s just something to do, y’know, when Simpsons goes to a long mattress commercial and a car dealer ad and then the same mattress commercial again. Making little braids in Shawn’s hair. Splitting a section in half and then in half and then in half and half and half and then thirds, braiding it, seeing how small he can make them before he gets told to fuck off. Taking a half of a half and making that into thirds, twisting the threes, braiding that. Watching it uncoil on itself in his fingers with no rubber bands to hold anything in place. Taking three braids of different sizes and braiding _those_ together, then undoing it all from the top and combing through with his fingers until it’s perfectly smooth again, gently; careful to not pull so he doesn’t get elbowed in the nuts. It’s a distraction even when the episode comes back to wrap up and Futurama comes on, and Sid fucking _loves_ Futurama. 

Shawn grumbles “_Having fun back there?_” and Sid just hums, licking his fingers to twist the ends of a braid together, which makes Shawn look over his shoulder cuz yeah, he definitely did just lick his hand, y’know. He grunts something that’s not anger but not like, _stoked_ on it, but he doesn’t smack Sid’s hands or anything so it’s probably okay. 

“Y’want me to stop?”

“It’s good," Shawn says quietly like he's trying to talk in a movie theater, half his face in shadow & the other half flickering blue and yellow, teal, orange. The colors of the future. "Just don’t be gross.”

And yeah, he can maybe do that, so y’know. He doesn’t upset anybody. Y’know. Not Shawn anyway. The house is already haunted and the producer’s a ghost. He doesn’t need to make stuff worse. 

He zones out, cuz it’s relaxing and easy, Fred’s snoring and the TV is soft and Corey’s breathing fell into a steady rhythm a long time ago and maybe that’s where Shawn’s headed too and then it’ll just be Sid and the ghosts and the Honda Sales Drive commercial that’s played a dozen times, but that’s okay. He’s got the TV and weed and a fully stocked fridge and his favorite people making his legs fall asleep. The crappy lamp’s working for now. Shawn’s hair is soft as he untwists another round of braids.

Shawn turns to look at him again, mumbling a “_come here_” with a soft jerk of his head and Sid pushes up onto his elbows to get as close as he can with a pile of cuddles on him, as close as he can without waking Corey up. 

“_What?_” 

It’s not confrontational or defensive, more like a “_huh?_” made of real words. He’s not trying to be a dick, y’know. And Shawn doesn’t say anything, just wraps a big hand around the back of his neck and plants a sweet kiss on his mouth and makes a happy rumble in his chest (or at least it _sounds_ happy, y’know) and Sid feels warm and fuzzy and stoned, soft-focus and comforted there. 

It’s just kind, y’know.


End file.
